


The Comfort of Familiarity

by jaekayelle



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaekayelle/pseuds/jaekayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comfort of Familiarity

Sometimes you forget. It's easy to do, when you get comfortable with someone -- a friend, a family member, a lover. You fall into habits with them, maybe routines. You don't think before you act. 

That's more or less what Rafa did.

#

The night before involved a bit of subterfuge, since the Armada wanted Rafa to hang out with them. He begged off, saying he needed to sleep. 

“Final is tomorrow,” he said. 

“Come on,” Feli said, “Just for an hour.”

“An hour leads to three and then drinking till dawn. No.”

Nando jumped in. “You're no fun! You don't party with us anymore.”

“Not before a match, especially a final,” Rafa said as sternly as he could with a smile on his face. He knew they were only teasing him. They were professionals. They all understood the importance of getting enough sleep before a match. 

Ferru tugged on Feli's arm and then grabbed Nando's, and pulled them both down the hallway with him. Marc stepped out into the hallway from his room as they got near it, so he fell in with them and waved to Rafa.

“Good night, Rafael.”

Rafa waved them on their way and then inserted the key card in the door to his room. A few minutes after he went inside his cell rang. A soft smile appeared when he saw who was calling.

“Hola, Roger.”

“Hi. Are you alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that a no maybe or a come on over maybe?”

Laughing Rafa replied, “Is get over here now maybe.”

“Well, it could take me a while to get there. I wasn't sure of my reception, that's why I called first.”

Rafa huffed, “Rogi, if you...” There was a knock on his door. “Wait, someone here. Could be Feli forgetting something.” 

He walked to the door and opened it. Roger leaned against the wall next to the door, one foot tipped up so that his ankle rested against his leg. 

“Feli didn't forget anything. I did.” Roger walked into the room without waiting for an invitation. “I forgot to tell you I might be coming over tonight, perhaps.” 

Rafa did his best to look indecisive about that. “Perhap? Look like you here now. Not sure I let strange men in my room after dark.”

Leaning in close Roger spoke inches away from Rafa's face, so that their noses almost touched and they had to go cross-eyed to see one another clearly. “So you let strange men in your room before dark?”

“Sometime.”

“Oh? Anybody I know?”

“Si. There one. He is about my height. Very handsome. Great athlete.”

“Yes?”

“Si. His name Cristiano Ronaldo.”

Roger shook his head. “Rafa. How many times do I have to tell you? No footballers unless I can be here, too.”

Rafa made a face. “Sorry. I forget.”

Sighing dramatically Roger said, “It's all right. Just remember for next time.”

“Si.” 

Roger lifted a hand and drifted his fingers along Rafa's jaw. 

“Beautiful Rafa,” he whispered. He leaned in closer, their lips a breath apart. Then he kissed Rafa on the tip of his nose.

That earned him many curses. Rafa fired off a string of invectives and told him that his ancestors were stupid to have a great-great-manytimes-great-grandson who was so inconsiderate. Then he clamped a hand on the back of Roger's neck and yanked him forward into a kiss that made them both moan. When he let him go Roger looked like he didn't know his own name. Rafa smiled smugly and then turned and walked away.

One hundred and seventy-five pounds collided with him and they fell together onto the bed. 

Rafa got his sleep about an hour or so later when he fell into an exhausted slumber, sated and happy.

#

Roger was showered and dressed when Rafa surfaced. He lifted his head to peer blearily at him as Roger leaned over him. 

“Gotta go. See you on court?”

“Is final. Of course I be there.” 

Roger laughed. “I can hear the “Stupido!” in your voice. And I can picture you holding the runner up plate.”

Rafa surged up onto his elbows, his hair falling into his eyes so he blew it off his forehead with a gust of angry air. Mock anger, of course, he could never be truly angry with Roger. For long. 

“Si! Stupido! I hold trophy. You get plate!” 

“Not this time!” Roger shot back, also pretending to be fuming. “You won Monte Carlo. I get Barcelona.”

“We in my country. Is my tournament!”

“You can have Madrid!”

“Don't want it.” Wait. He did want that one too. “We talk when in Madrid. For now we talk about this one!”

“Nothing,” Roger swiftly kissed him hard on the mouth, “to talk about. I will win today!” Then he pulled away and was at the door before Rafa could do anything. 

“You move fast for old man!” he called after him.

Roger flipped his middle finger at him, something Rafa was fairly certain Roger would never have done before they got involved, and then the door closed behind him. 

Rafa fell back onto the pillows and hugged the sheets close. He still had time for more sleep and sank into it with a big smile on his face. 

#

Roger moved very fast for an old man. Rafa had to scramble to keep ahead of him and, in the end, it did not pay off. Roger won 6-4, 6-7,7-6. 

They stood close at the awards ceremony. Rafa was still surprised by the result. It had been a while since Roger had beaten him on clay, but he did not begrudge him his victory. In fact, he was delighted because it had been a close match and they had both played their best. He enjoyed playing Roger, whose style was so different from his own. They made each other think on their feet. It was more challenging and he always felt a little high after one of their matches. Today was no different. He couldn't stop grinning and Roger kept giving him amused, indulgent looks. 

Rafa had been here so many times in this place, in a place like this, at a ceremony like it, that it felt like home. He gazed back at Roger, barely paying attention to the words being spoken by the tournament organizers. He was seized by the desire to wipe that expression off Roger's face. Not because he disliked it, but because he lived to unsettle his lover as often as possible. An emotionally off-balance Roger was dangerously seductive. He nearly always reacted to Rafa's attempts at rattling him with a passion equalling Rafa's own. 

Roger stared at him, a tiny crease appearing between his eyes. Just before Rafa moved Roger's expression changed to one of warning, his mouth forming the silent words, “Don't do it!” but it was too late. 

Whatever he saw on Rafa's face alarmed him, but Rafa acted without thinking. He knew only that he had to do it. Not once did the definition of what “it” was reach his brain as he turned and, holding his plate off to the side, leaned in to claim Roger's mouth. The kiss went on for a glorious eternity and for far too short a period as Roger jerked backwards, one hand fumbling the heavy trophy and the other gripping Rafa's shoulder, not pushing him away but holding him as if uncertain what to do.

Then Rafa became aware of what he'd done and his face flamed. 

“I sorry! So sorry!”

There was much surprised laughter from the crowd and the tournament officials. Rafa locked eyes with Roger, who still looked startled; then his expression shifted from uncomfortable back to amusement. He reached out and put his free arm around Rafa's shoulders, drawing him close. Their hair touched and tangled, as they pressed up against one another.

His breath was hot on Rafa's ear as he spoke, “It's okay. I think it will be fine.” His grip on the trophy was awkward, so Rafa grabbed the handle closest to him and helped him heft it up, his own plate clamped under his arm. “Thanks.”

Camera flashes went off in a wild frenzy of lights and clattering. Those who had missed the money shot were making do with this one. 

Later in interviews Rafa told the media that he was just so happy for Roger winning and happy for the great match that he'd forgotten that the Swiss weren't as demonstrative as the Spanish. In his family if they were happy they laughed, they hugged, they kissed. He and Roger were good friends and he considered him family. The press seemed to accept that explanation and he tried to encourage them to move on to his performance during the match, rather than what had occurred afterwards. After much good humour they did just that.

#

He felt wrung out by the time he was allowed some privacy. Rafa sank onto a bench in the locker room and buried his face in a towel. He simply breathed in the warm fibres. A yawn escaped him as he drew the towel down to his chin. 

“You okay?”

Twisting around Rafa blinked when he saw Roger leaning against the row of lockers. “I should ask you same.”

“I'm fine. I was a little surprised, you know, but before I could enjoy the kiss you stopped.”

“I so sorry, Rogi. I didn't think...” Rafa trailed off miserably.

Roger sat down and leaned against him. “Hey, it's okay. I didn't mind. I enjoyed it, actually. Always wanted to kiss you on the court in front of everyone.”

Rafa smiled tentatively. “Si?”

“Si. Maybe some day we can do that for real.” He bumped their shoulders and then resumed leaning. Rafa leaned back, finally beginning to relax. He rested his head against Roger's and they simply sat there for a few minutes. 

“Congratulations, Rogi. You won today after all.”

“Yeah, I did.” He sounded surprised and delighted. 

“How you feel?”

“I feel...I feel good. I feel happy that you are here with me.” 

“Yes?”

Sliding on the bench he turned Rafa so that they could face one another. “Playing you is... you bring out the best in me, Raf. Not just on the court.”

“I feel same. We do that for each other.”

They slowly gravitated towards one another until they could finally have the kiss Rafa had begun earlier. It deepened sweetly and Rafa's eyes shut as he moved his mouth under Roger's. He opened up for him, letting Roger take charge, giving him what he needed. 

Finally, they parted. Roger gazed at him, looking as besotted as Rafa felt. 

“You okay now?”

“I'm hungry.”

Laughing Roger replied, “Well, let's go eat.”

“I shower and change?”

“Yeah, I need to do the same. Might be a good idea if we don't shower together. Push our luck, you know.”

“Meet here?”

“Sounds good,” Roger agreed.

Rafa gathered his toiletries and towel and headed towards the shower, intending to be quick about it.

Roger stopped him with a question. “Do you really think of me as family?”

Rafa felt his face crease gently with a smile. “Yes. You are part of my family.”

“Good to know, because you mean the same to me. Family. Closer than close.”

Rafa wasn't much of a whistler but he tried it on the way to the showers. It was a good day.

# end


End file.
